


We Dance To The Beat

by philomel



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Club Sex, Dancing, First Time, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philomel/pseuds/philomel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>And it's loud and proud.</i> AU. Ye olde dance club frottage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Dance To The Beat

This isn't Jensen's scene. He's more likely to do some white boy head-bopping to Skynyrd than shake his ass to... whatever this generic, overproduced Lady Gaga-ish dance shit is.

And he's trying to fight it, really. Maintain what little, and possibly false, sense of dignity he still has.

But the bass is so loud it's vibrating up from the floor boards to his feet, the drums all tribal like a heartbeat thumping in his ears. Mixed with the three shots of tequila already stirring through his bloodstream, it's a losing battle he's fighting here. And now Mike's grabbing Tom by the collar, and Tom's pulling at Jensen's elbow, and they're breaking through the first wall of bodies on the dance floor, where everyone's pressed too close to do much more than writhe against each other, and he can't _not_ move. There's no way he could remain in the midst of all this and stay still, even if he tried.

So he doesn't try, just rolls his eyes and starts bending his legs a little to the rhythm, taps into his standard head bob. But he shoves his hands in his pockets, because he's stubborn like that. Besides there are so many nearly exposed body parts at hand level, he figures pockets are probably safer. He also figures he looks like a complete stiff, but it's a risk he's willing to take. It's not like he knows what to do with his hands anyway.

But someone else seems to have an idea.

A pretty redhead in a flimsy white shirt that she's sweated through and is clearly not wearing a bra under suddenly takes hold of his arms and positions them around her waist. She rocks her body against his, looking up at him through eyes so heavy with makeup that, in the crazy mess of lights, he has no chance of telling what color they are. Her body is warm where he holds onto her loosely, careful of how far back his fingers go so he doesn't unintentionally grope her ass. Though he thinks she might just like that, judging by the way she's undulating against his thigh. He decides to move his whole body a little more too, following her lead.

She seems to take it as a cue, and shimmies nearer, plastering herself along his front. He can feel her nipples, hard, against his stomach, and he tries to lean away, like he's the one who crossed the line. But she just adheres herself to him even more, linking her hands behind his neck and rolling her hips up into his. It's about as unsubtle as she could possibly get. And it's not like Jensen is a prude or anything, but he thinks they should at least know each other's names first. He opens his mouth to ask her.

But then, some small brunette with a head full of dense curls hip-checks the redhead. She says something in her ear, and the redhead smiles up at Jensen almost wistfully, jerks her thumb backward, in the direction of the bar, the bathrooms — Jensen's not sure, he's kind of lost direction, a bit at sea out here.

He watches as the brunette grabs onto the redhead's hand and they squeeze their way through the crowd.

Looking away, he sees Mike mouthing something at him from over the bouncing head of a curvy blonde in a skirt so short it's practically a belt. And will be soon if Mike's wandering hand has its way. His other hand is gesturing exasperatedly. The only thing Jensen can make out is, "What the fuck?" He just shrugs back.

"Go after them!" he thinks Mike is yelling, emphasized by his wild pointing.

Jensen ignores him and turns away, searching for Tom instead. Maybe he'll want to go get a drink if he's not busy with some girl of his own. Jensen's already sweaty and parched.

But then there are hands on his hips, coming from behind. They're large hands, though, long fingered, and Jensen knows immediately that they don't belong to any girl. His heart trips double time, racing against the music. He twists around, ready to tell this guy that he's barking up the wrong tree.

Then he sees him: tall, taller than Tom, and even more muscular, every inch of definition showing through the tight cling of his blue tee that's half tucked into his low-slung jeans that are barely hanging on by his weathered belt with a giant Texas buckle fixed to it. Jensen realizes he's just spent way too much time staring at the guy's lower half and he looks up quickly, to be greeted by a wide smile and a ridiculous set of dimples. Almost as ridiculous as the mop of brown hair all tousled from dancing, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. Reflexively, Jensen reaches up to brush the hair out of the guy's eyes, only realizing halfway there what he's actually doing. At the same time, he remembers the guy's hands on his hips, still there, but with a firmer grip now. It feels like he's trying to guide Jensen, get him to move.

Jensen lowers his hand where it was raised stupidly in the air and goes to remove the guy's hand from his hip. But as soon as his hand lays over the guy's, he's leaning in toward Jensen and Jensen immediately forgets what he was going to do.

"Hi," the guy says, almost shyly, near Jensen's ear.

That drawl, it reminds Jensen so badly of home. It reminds him of that boy on his lacrosse team in high school, that boy who was so tall everyone joked that he must have taken a wrong turn on his way to the basketball court. That boy who made Jensen finally own up to his feelings, impossible to ignore the blood rushing to his dick every time they stood near each other in the gym showers.

Not that he's done much since then. He's had a crush on Tom for the past year, but he knows Tom's not like that and he doesn't see the point in telling his friends he likes men until the time is right, when someone else comes along.

But someone seems to be here, and vying for his attention.

The guy's staring at Jensen intently with raised eyebrows. He looks expectant, and it's then that Jensen realizes he probably totally missed what he was just saying.

"I'm sorry, what?" he shouts over the music, cupping the back of his own ear. And, really, it was just the fact that he's right-handed that he gestured with that hand instead of the one still covering the guy's hand on his hip.

The guy smiles, and there are those dimples again. Tom definitely doesn't have dimples like that, and more's the pity.

"I said, _What's your name?_ I promise it isn't a trick question."

Jensen leans up to make sure he is heard now that the music has changed to something more manic, erratic beat impossible to distinguish from his pulse. Their chests meet, and Jensen can feel the heat coming off the guy, can feel the solid contour of his pecs and it's even better than when the redhead pushed her tits into him. Stretching his head over the guy's shoulder, a casual distance away from his ear, he says his name, enunciating by default because he's been asked to repeat it so many times in the past. "What's yours?"

Doing him one better, the guy mimics Jensen's move, head side by side with Jensen's, and Jensen tilts his head unintentionally, straining to hear him before he even speaks. The guy tilts his head too, and suddenly his lips are right against Jensen's ear, and his ear is burning at the contact. The guy brushes his lips over the shell of Jensen's ear, not at all accidentally, and says, "Hi, Jensen. I'm Jared."

Jensen turns his head abruptly and they're almost nose to nose. They're so close, he almost goes cross-eyed looking at Jared with his fox-slanted hazel eyes shifting blue and green in the changing lights. And Jensen's pretty much gone. He can't hold back the goofy grin as he opens his mouth and says, "Hi."

Jared smirks and Jensen blushes slightly at his own stellar conversing.

Just as Jensen's blush starts to clear up, Jared nudges the hair behind Jensen's ear with his nose (and, god, Jensen hopes it's not too disgustingly sweaty), and says, "So, Jensen, are you gonna start dancing, or are you just gonna stand there and let me do all the work?"

Biting his lip, Jensen glances down as Jared pulls back a little, still leaning close to Jensen. He can feel Jared's thumbs rubbing back and forth over the waist of his jeans, the movement rucking up his tee. "Well," Jensen says, looking up at Jared through his eyelashes, knowing it's obvious flirting but deciding they're well into it now anyway. "I was hoping I could get away with it a little longer. So much for being a lazy ass."

Jared laughs, catching his tongue between his teeth, and all Jensen can think of is how he'd like to have that little pink tip between his own teeth.

The song's slowing down, more sensual now. Jared keeps his eyes focused on Jensen's and starts swaying his hips to the beat, guiding Jensen to mirror him. The heat between them is incredible, heady and intense, and Jensen can't tell if it's just the way everyone's packed together like tinned sardines or the alcohol buzzing through him or something more. He wagers a guess that it's a bit of all three. But it's the third that's most important right now. He lets go, lets his other hand cover Jared's too, so that they're both holding Jensen's hips, and he laces their fingers together.

"That's it," Jared says encouragingly, and maneuvers Jensen's hips out of the simple side-to-side motion and into a slow roll that matches the sinuous cello weaving around the drum track and synthesizer. Its low moan precedes Jensen's as his crotch presses up against Jared's. He's half-hard and, if he's not mistaken, so is Jared.

With each roll, Jared brings them closer together. Then he adds a a sharp thrust, and there's no question in Jensen's mind that this kind of dancing is simulated sex. _Simulated_ might even be a wasted adjective. Because the more he feels Jared's fly rub against his, the harder he rubs back, mindless of anything but the brief, sweet friction. He's forgotten about Mike and Tom, forgotten the redhead and her brunette friend, doesn't care who sees this, as he pulls his hands off Jared's and runs them up the slope of Jared's chest. Jared's shirt is damp, and Jensen wants to get it off him, feel that sweat-slicked skin naked under his palms. He slides his hands up to Jared's neck, sneaking them under his collar, settling for that instead.

When Jensen combs his fingers up into the hair at the base of Jared's neck, Jared lets the weight draw him down. He rests his forehead against Jensen's, tugging Jensen's hips in tighter at the same time.

Now there is no space between them, save the scant inch between their open mouths. Simultaneously, they wet their own lips. Their tongues catch and Jared groans loud enough Jensen can feel it, the stuttering breath drying where he only just licked.

They push into each other at the same time, thighs and hips and chests and tongues. There's no tentative teasing of lips. They twine together, trading deep, sucking kisses back and forth. No longer bothering to feign at innocent dancing, they keep their bodies pressed fast, hard lines of their cocks slotted side by side, grinding at an accelerating pace.

The lights are swirling in blues and purples and reds against Jensen's closed eyes. Arms and legs collide with his, not leaving them any room completely to themselves, but it doesn't matter. Jared's mouth is a perfect fit, plush and hot and so wet Jensen can't help but imagine where else it might fit. His tongue snakes around Jensen's, and Jensen pictures putting that to use too, letting Jared open him up, returning the favor later if he wants it.

As if Jared's on the same wavelength, he slips his hands over Jensen's hips and snugly into Jensen's back pockets, shamelessly cupping Jensen's ass and using it to drive their bodies impossibly closer. Jensen scratches his fingers up Jared's scalp, gripping at the thick hair that tickles his palms. He breaks away from Jared's mouth, and ruts his hips in short, staccato circles timed to the tripping beat. As the music drops away to a single throbbing bass line, Jensen licks a long stripe all the way up Jared's neck to his chin, stumbling over his stubble just as the music kicks back in. He bites playfully then twists his tongue into the dimple there. And suddenly Jared goes stock still. Jensen looks up at him, questioning.

Jared's mouth is open in an O so perfect Jensen wants to lick the flawless outline of it. Jared gives a tiny, jerk of his hips, then another. Then Jensen feels warmth and wetness seeping from Jared's jeans to his. He shoves his hand between them to feel it and Jared moans between shaky breaths. Jensen can't resist rubbing his hand over that damp denim, molding his hand to the shape of Jared's dick, still hard.

Jared's hips jerk forward once more, then he's batting Jensen's hand away, grabbing hold of his hips again and forcing him around. Sealing himself all along Jensen's back, Jared drags his hands down Jensen's thighs, pushing his fingers inward until they form a vee just under Jensen's crotch. One finger pokes through the frayed hole on the front of Jensen's jeans, teasingly touching Jensen's bare skin, as he mouths at Jensen's ear, teeth grazing the lobe.

"Now your turn," Jared says directly into Jensen's ear, voice shot ragged. Its low rumble coincides so well with the bass thrumming from the floor and up Jensen's legs. But Jensen doesn't care about the music anymore, because Jared's got both hands on him now, stroking him hard right through his jeans.

Some girl gasps, and Jensen looks up through hazy eyes to see her pointing and some guy laughing beside her. And he still doesn't care. He doesn't care if Mike or Tom or the whole world sees.

Jensen's balls are drawn up so tight he practically keens when Jared lowers one hand to cup them. Jared pushes them up higher against Jensen's trapped dick. The pressure is almost excruciating, but so good, _so good_. And even better when Jared increases his rhythm, going faster than the music, so fast Jensen's head is spinning, his balance so far off he'd be falling if he didn't have Jared to hold him up. Then Jared squeezes all along Jensen's length, and he comes just like that. On the dance floor, in front of everyone.

He's shaking a little when he comes back to himself, or maybe it's just the music vibrating through him.

There's a cat call and whistling and some other exclamations that don't sound as positive. But they all fade into background noise when Jared nuzzles against him, arms crossed over Jensen's chest.

Jensen turns his head, catching Jared's mouth in a quick, wet kiss. He licks his lips to break the string of saliva between them and says, "Take me home?"

Jared doesn't answer but kisses Jensen again, runs his hands down his arms, threads his fingers with one of Jensen's hands and pulls him out of the crowd.

Somewhere near the bar, Jensen swears he hears Mike calling his name. But he just keeps walking, letting Jared lead him right out the door. This place is more Mike's thing anyway, let him and Tom have it. Besides, Jensen and Jared have already made enough of a scene here. Any more dancing will have to be the private kind.

**Author's Note:**

> • Title and summary stolen from Robyn’s “We Dance To The Beat.”
> 
> • Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/blindfold_spn/3417.html?thread=4159833#t4159833) as part of [](http://blindfold_spn.livejournal.com/profile)[**blindfold_spn**](http://blindfold_spn.livejournal.com/)..  
> 


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